18mm Blues (43 page)

The Thai coast was out of sight now.

The ketch's sleek fiberglass hull was easily cutting its way through the blue-black water, leaving a frivolous wake. Grady's hands on the wheel seemed to feel the boat's condescension, its taunt saying to the sea:
come on, pitch me, heel me, show me what you've got
. The Andaman was too vast to hear, just kept on being docile.

Next stop would be the island of Surin Tai fifty nautical miles ahead. Grady had studied the charts and decided Surin Tai and its sister island, Surin Nua, looked about right. They were remote enough and practically on the boundary of Burmese waters. Although they were comparatively large islands and inhabited, there were numerous smaller ones around them. There'd be plenty of places for good, solitary diving and possibly the finding of a pearl oyster or two and inside one possibly a perfect, creamy natural of, say, ten millimeters, or twelve, or maybe fourteen, Grady thought. He tried to convince himself that only the diving counted, but a pearl like that, of increasing size, persisted in his imagination.

Ko Surin Tai.

It came into view at early evening, changing from mauve to gray to green as the ketch proceeded to it. No reason to be satisfied with just having reached the vicinity; there was still light enough left to explore about, and as Grady had surmised, on the western end was a labyrinth of small islands, odd-shaped pieces of land that looked like they'd been negligently scattered. Thick green growth had jumped on them and so multiplied, it overhung their edges all around. There were no beaches, but many coves and narrow channels formed by the disarray.

Grady steered in among them, decided on a cove that appeared no better or worse than others he'd passed up, cut the engine and dropped anchor. Just in time. Daylight gave up suddenly and night pressed down.

They had a tossed salad and fried Bayonne ham supper on the fantail and turned in early. William could have taken the forward berth but chose instead to sleep out on the foredeck. Grady and Julia agreed that the quarter berths situated starboard and port aft of the companionway ladder looked invitingly snug. However, when they'd undressed and were in separate berths the in-between space got to them and they had to counter it by reading.

Julia had brought along her Alice A. Bailey and another book on spiritualism that she'd picked up in Bangkok. The part she was reading at the moment dealt with the premise that an earthly body with a forsaken soul could be taken over by a soul that would value it more and make better use of it. She wished she'd brought along something lighter.

Grady hadn't thought to bring reading material, but when he opened the locker above the berth he found plenty, including not only some recent nonfiction books and the last three editions of
Architectural Digest
but as well a five-volume set of
Jardins à la Mode et Jardins Anglo-Chinois
, reproduced sketches of gardens designed by the eighteenth-century landscaper Georges Louis le Rouge.

Kumura had, indeed, thought of everything.

Julia found in her identical locker several editions of the magazine
Contemporary Artist
, two modern gothic novels, an edition of
SunaNo Onna (Woman in the Dunes)
by Abe Kobo and a Japanese erotic cartoon magazine depicting episodes of possible impossibilities. Julia got right into that. She credited her understanding to the drawings, gave nothing to the Japanese captions. This was, after all, the universal language. Every once in a while a physical exaggeration brought her to a giggle. How long it had been since she'd seen such a magazine, she thought. And then a second thought: hell, when had she ever seen one?

She didn't get all the way through the cartoons. They were too much of the same. She put the magazine back into the locker and resumed reading about the appropriating of the bodies of forsaken souls, in particular those of persons who'd given up on life and were contemplating suicide. It was contended that Albert Einstein had been one such.

She allowed the book to fall to her chest and glanced over at Grady. He was in the gardens. She wanted his opinion on forsaken souls but let him be. It was entirely unexpected when, without taking his eyes, only his mind, from the landscape sketches, he asked, “What was it that was going on between you and Paulette last night?”

“When last night?”

“When you were dancing by the pool.”

“It was nothing.”

“Didn't look like nothing.”

“What could it have been?”

He didn't want to say. He hadn't even wanted to ask about it but like a little burp it had come out. “You want to talk about it?”

“Hell no.”

“All it was was a couple of women dancing. In France and a lot of places women often dance with one another, right?”

“Hold on to that,” Julia advised, clicked off her reading light and turned over to face starboard and sleep.

At first light they were up, and had strong coffee, cinnamon toast and jasmine honey. Grady activated the electronically controlled transom, that is, the freeboard of the stern. It unsealed and lowered outward so it was horizontal with the surface of the water and would serve as a platform from which they'd be able to dive more easily and come back aboard. To the platform Grady attached a four-step ladder with handrails that extended below the surface.

William meanwhile checked the air and valves of three of the tanks, bright yellow Dacor eighty-cubic-foot tanks.

They put on their skin suits. The water here was too warm for a full suit, even quite a few fathoms down it would still be too warm. A partial lightweight suit was enough, legless, armless, little more than a swimsuit really. Also, they wouldn't be wearing helmets or booties or gloves. It was, Grady thought, going to be an enjoyable dive, had the makings of his best dive ever.

He helped Julia get into her backpack with tank, attached her balanced regulator and digital instruments for depth, air, elapsed time, strapped a sheathed knife to the inside of her left calf, and while he was down there adjusted the heel straps of her fins. He even spat into the lens of her mask to prevent fogging.

All this she could have done for herself, however she let Grady have the pleasure of looking after her. She'd been diving twice. First time had been four years ago during a ten-day vacation in Cozumel. She'd taken the fundamental lessons then. Her second time had been a year later in Belize. Both times she'd rented the necessary gear. Her enthusiasm never reached a level that would make her want to buy.

She waddled onto the diving platform, turned her back to the water and flopped in. The fins propelled her downward and she reached the bottom at four fathoms, a plain grayish bottom. She looked up. Saw the white hull of the
Sea Cloud
and then at the stern of it a concussion of bubbles followed immediately by another. The plunging in of Grady and William.

They joined her on the bottom and the three swam along together, exploring. They soon found there wasn't too much to explore. The bottom was level and silty in spots, the underwater bases of the islands consisted of a molten-looking rock, smooth and uncolorful. No caves. Patches of green to dun-colored seaweed waved weakly and a few coral growths with well-defined arms like saguaro cacti contributed little to the eye. The only saving thing was the fish. Various kinds, mostly little ones in schools of many, an entire school changing direction simultaneously. Looking like a pack of identical dark dots when they were head on, becoming sudden flashings of silver and cerise as they angled off. They seemed to be performing or practicing, Julia thought, surely they didn't need the exercise.

She was trying her best to enjoy the dive. However, her reaction was taking her the opposite way. For some reason she was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. She was swimming and breathing easily but it seemed she had no compatibility with the water. What was wrong? She'd never been claustrophobic. No, that wasn't it. The feeling didn't have any panic in it. It was more a mixture of self-consciousness and protest and … stifle and … now it was defining itself.

She felt encumbered.

She stopped, gestured to Grady that she was going to return to the boat.

Grady asked with a gesture was she all right?

She assured him with a nod and went up.

Grady and William continued on, around the point of the cove to another of the small islands. There they encountered three other divers. A short ways farther on they came within sight of two more, and as they went along they passed beneath the hulls of at least ten boats.

Before noon they'd had enough. Climbed back aboard the ketch and shed their gear. Julia had changed into white shorts and a T-shirt, was lying face up on a cushion on the cabin top.

She had lunch ready, what she called a “picky” lunch, a variety of delicacies such as cold smoked salmon, pâté de compagne and sliced tomatoes with basil, arugula and olive oil, but nothing solid. Grady and William were hungry. Julia wasn't because she'd munched considerably while preparing.

Grady asked why she'd quit the dive.

“I just wasn't in the mood,” she told him

“You didn't miss anything,” he said.

“The fish were pretty.”

“Yeah, hooray for the fish,” Grady remarked sardonically.

“What did you think, lover, you were going to come out here to an underwater paradise and pluck up a few pearl oysters?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, blame yourself, you chose this place.”

“I didn't even see a shell. Did you?” He turned to William.

“No,” William said.

“The worst possible place. More divers than a public pool.”

“Poor baby,” Julia consoled. “You had your heart so set on better than this.” She delivered a consoling peck to below his right sideburn, told his right ear, “We should go elsewhere.”

“Where elsewhere?”

“You must have considered a backup.”

“Yeah, but I don't want to be this wrong twice,” Grady said and deferred to William. “You choose the next spot.”

William thought a moment and deferred to Julia. “You,” he said, “we'll let you choose.”

After lunch, Julia and William went below to go over some nautical charts. Grady fixed a pitcher of lemonade and brought it to them, but he didn't butt in. He saw that Julia was taking the responsibility seriously, was using a magnifying glass to scan the charts, as though they were trying to hide something from her. He went up on deck with a powerful portable radio he'd found, relaxed in the cockpit while listening to a Sydney, Australia, cool jazz and hot topic station. For ten minutes a conservationist was alarmed about an endangered species and then for five Wynton Marsalis's trumpet cried.

Julia and William came on deck.

Julia told Grady she'd figured out where they should dive. She expected Grady would want to know where but he'd decided he wouldn't ask, would just go along with wherever it was, make a few points for his cooperative nature. Anyway, no matter what her choice, it couldn't be worse than here at Surin Tai.

With the press of buttons, Grady hoisted the anchor, started up the engine and hoisted the mainsail. He guided the ketch down the circuitous channel to the open sea. “What's the bearing?” he asked Julia.

“North by northwest,” she replied with snap.

Grady recalled the chart he'd consulted to reach Surin Tai. A north by northwest course would in little more than an hour put them in Burmese waters. Should he call that to Julia's and William's attention? Surely they knew, had studied the charts. He wouldn't mention it, Grady decided. Hell, if they were game so was he.

The readout of the global positioning satellite receiver indicated where the ketch was at that moment. Having determined that, he set the course and wished for more wind so he could truly sail. Both the sea and the wind were the same as they'd been the day before.

The hour passed.

Nothing in sight, no islands, no other vessels. Nothing different about being in Burmese waters, Grady thought, but how far did Julia have in mind? He still wouldn't ask, figured she or William would tell him soon enough. Probably what she'd chosen was an island just beyond the boundary, one that would allow them, if need be, to make a dash back to Thailand.

At eight o'clock Grady knew that was evidently not the case. They were well into Burmese waters by then and still running full on course.

“Way too deep to anchor out here,” he told Julia when she brought him a hunk of Stilton, baguettes and a goblet of fine red.

“I know,” she said.

“How do you know?” he tested.

“It said so on the chart.”

“We're going to get to someplace where we'll be able to anchor, won't we?”

“Eventually, perhaps.”

What kind of answer was that? Grady thought. “I assume you know where we're going.”

“So do I.” She took a sip from his goblet and licked the wine from her upper lip. “Why don't you let me relieve you?” she said, meaning at the helm but realizing the ambiguity, making the most of it.

“What's William doing?”

“He's in the galley drying some rose leaves.”

“Drying rose leaves?”

“There was a bouquet of fresh roses in the main cabin, which, by the way, is where we're going to sleep and so forth tonight. It has an expediently firm double mattress, unless, of course, you're tired and would prefer last night's bunk.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you're all horned up and you want to fuck me.”

“You might say that.” He kissed her a long, sloppy tongue-parrying one. Inhaled her neck. Her aggressive words were still in his ears. He liked that.

She knew he liked that and she was never going to hold back on him.

“No shit,” he said, “William is drying rose leaves?”

“In the oven.”

“Why?”

“It seems important to him.”

Nearly night came and then entirely night. Julia and Grady observed the stars, more plentiful to the sight out there on the sea. They saw a lot of shooting ones.